The Case of the Reaping
by mindimpalace
Summary: Sherlock and John find themselves dangerously close the the Hunger Games. Rated T just to be safe.


Author's Note: I own nothing, etc. This was just a crazy idea I had once. I may continue it eventually. Implied Johnlock if you squint.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes. _What?_ This wasn't his bed…

He looked to the right of him and saw John still there. Where were they though?

"This isn't London…" Sherlock concluded after a quick look around the square he was standing in.

"Excellent deduction," that was John. Judging by what Sherlock perceived as sarcasm (he was getting quite good at picking it up, sarcasm), he seemed to be in a panic. That was understandable, Sherlock supposed, "But do you have any idea where the _hell_ we actually _are_?"

"Not yet." The two of them were standing among a crowd in a small town square. Wherever they were, the upkeep of it didn't seem too impressive. Whenever these gray buildings had been built, it was a long time ago, and they'd withstood a lot. He noticed the crowd they were standing in seemed to be separated by gender and age. He and John were standing in the very back of the men's section, a rope behind them to separate the sections. They both were significantly older than anyone else in the crowd seemed to be… "From what I'm able to deduce, John, we've somehow managed to find ourselves far in our future… These buildings look like they were built sometime in the nineteenth- to twenty-first century. But the wear on the buildings suggests they've been here for at least three hundred years. At least."

"That's impossible."

"Improbable, John. Not impossible. Honestly, don't you ever listen to a thing I tell you? 'Impossible' suggests-"

"Do you think the Doctor is behind this?" John cut him off.

"Unlikely. It seems the only solution, but I do not believe he has any way of remotely transporting individuals from one location to another without anyone being aware…"

"Then how are we here? And _where_ is _here_?"

"I don't know, John. I'm not-" Sherlock became aware of the crowd's silence around him. Something was happening.

"John Watson?" The woman on the stage at the front of the square seemed confused. She was looking in the girls' section with a small piece of paper in her hand. The crowd started murmuring. They seemed equally as confused as the obnoxiously-dressed woman.

John gave Sherlock an also-confused look and raised his hand, "Yeah?"

"Oh!" The woman fixed her gaze on John and tried (and failed) to mask the confusion in her features, "Come up here, John," she waved him onto the stage and smiled at the crowd, "Our, erm, female tribute!"

The crowd gave a confused cheer which thankfully drowned out what Sherlock could only guess was John's complaint about him not being gay and even if he was, that wouldn't make him a female.

"Are there any volunteers for John Watson?" The woman asked after the crowd quieted down again. Nobody spoke. "Alright then! Tribute number 2!" She cheerfully took her time fishing around a large bowl of papers.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked the boy next to him as the woman kept up her annoying "search" for the right paper.

The boy looked at Sherlock like he was crazy.

"The Hunger Games, you plum! Don't you know? Every year, one boy and one girl are sent to the Capital to fight for the death… Thing is, that Watson guy isn't a girl like he's supposed to be, and he's too old to compete, anyway…"

"What? A fight to the death? And you people just let this happen?" What kind of barbaric society had Sherlock landed in?

The crowd had fallen silent again.

"Sherlock Holmes!" The woman called out.

Sherlock walked up to the stage without speaking a word. He knew the statistical odds of both him and John's names being drawn were very improbable. The fact that John was chosen for the girls' category made it even less likely. Somebody had made their names get chosen. Somebody had brought them here. Somebody wanted them dead.

There was no way Sherlock Holmes would stoop so low as to kill for someone else's entertainment. He would not let John die. He had to think of a plan. They were not going to fight in these games.

The woman, unable to see what Sherlock was thinking, continued smiling widely. "President Moriarty will be thrilled to have you join him in the Capital!"


End file.
